


Permadeath

by seeing_ghosts



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Running Away, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, dick grayson is a good friend, following batman canon gives me a migraine but i do my best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25475512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeing_ghosts/pseuds/seeing_ghosts
Summary: The worst thing about dying is surviving, it’s having to deal with the not only the physical consequences: the scars and the disfigurement but the mental consequences of living with something you shouldn’t remember, something that you should not have lived through.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Reader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47





	1. Prologue

Sometimes he thinks about what it would have been like if he had actually died, his body buried and rotting in the earth. He wonders what it would have been like if he had died and stayed dead. Swirling the whisky and ice in the bottom of his glass, Jason stares at the Gotham skyline through his apartment window; flickering neons and the red glow of tail lights permeate the thick, toxic haze hanging over the city. He takes a sip of his drink. He wishes he had been born somewhere else, somewhere where sirens didn’t ring in his ears every hour of the day, the red and blue lights bouncing from the window around his barren apartment and keeping him awake. Would he have still been homeless all those years ago if he was born in metropolis? Would he have still had to steal hubcaps and pickpocket to survive? He wouldn’t have met Bruce, wouldn’t have become robin and then - and then.. well maybe if life had been like that he wouldn’t be sat in his apartment wondering if maybe things would have been better if stayed dead. Jason gets up from his seat at the counter and walks barefoot across the room to the window, he places a calloused hand on the cold glass and stares down at the expanse of crime alley a few stories below. He watches as a woman hurries her child into a dilapidated apartment building and feels a pang of sympathy for the child who, unknowingly, will grow up twisted and warped by the cities influence just like he had. A cacophony of shouting followed by the echo of cracking bones snaps Jason’s gaze in a different direction. Three burly men, huddled around a fourth lying on the ground, scream profanity as they beat him senseless. In the orange light Jason can make out a boot on the man’s face, the reflection of his blood as his face is ground into the tarmac, teeth laying scattered by his head. He knows he could, that he should, intervene, his eyes drift to the red gleam of his battered helmet strewn on the countertop, the inhuman expression staring back at him urging him to step out there. Until he sees a glint of metal through the window and his eyes dart back to the altercation on the street. His breath stops. His hair standing on end as he breaks into a cold sweat.

“Fuck.” He hisses.

Jason turns sharply from the window, screws his eyes shut and brings his hand down from the glass to press it against a knot of scar tissue across his bare ribs. He’s not looking at it any more but he can’t get the silhouette of the crowbar against the insipid orange of the street lights out of his head. The crowbar. His head pulses as he stumbles back and wraps his arms tighter around himself, trying to hold himself together. Jason is gripping his glass of whiskey so hard in panic that he feels the glass flex in his hand before shattering, his pain receptors scream at him to let go of the shards but he can’t unfurl his fingers from the tight fist they are locked in, instead he grips the cold shards in his palm and feels the blood trickle down his wrist. Jason inhales sharply and screws his eyes shut, the glint of the crowbar seared into his mind. He falls to the ground, a loud thud echoing through his empty apartment as his knees make contact with the hard wood. Jason’s breathing is shallow. He’s suddenly back in Arkham. He can hear _his_ laugh, manic, high and deranged. He can see the crowbar clutched in a withered white hand, blood splattering the purple velvet of a blazer sleeve as the crowbar is brought swiftly down across Jason’s ribs. Jason can feel his bones crack and the white hot pain as the forked end of the crowbar tears his flesh. He can feel the onslaught of blows to his body and hear the manic inhuman laughter as if he was actually back there. Back in Arkham, screaming, crying, dying. Minutes drag by and Jason remains curled in on himself, eyes screwed shut so tight as he relives his death that he can feel tears, while sirens from outside wail in the background. He’s not sure how long he remains like that, curled up on his apartment floor, weak and vulnerable until his breathing starts to even out and he can feel his extremities again. Jason places his hand over his bare chest and counts the beats of his heart to make sure he is alive.... 3, 4, 5..... He lets out a breath. He can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed.

* * *

You hear rapid beeping as your eyes snap open, only to squeeze them shut at the sight of the insipid white ceiling and fluorescent lights. Disorientated you desperately try to remember where you are, how you got here and what the hell is happening. You open your eyes again, slowly this time, finally adjusting to the intensity of the lighting and being able to take in your surroundings. You're in a hospital room, there’s an IV next to you and you suddenly become aware of the dull ache of the cannula inserted into the back of your hand. Next to the IV stands a heart monitor, the white plastic of the machine yellowing with age but still beeping rhythmically, letting everyone know you're still alive. Shuffling under the rough bedsheets you slowly sit up, sighing from the exertion. You hurt all over, both your head and stomach ache but more than anything your wrists burn, you wish desperately that you weren't awake, it all hurts far too much. Looking down you see the soiled bandages wrapped around your wrists and upper left arm and you don't need to see what’s under them to be reminded of exactly what happened last night. You tried to kill yourself, and it didn’t work. Feeling tears welling in you eyes you press the heels of your hands into your eyes and let out a stifled sob. Why are you such a failure? Soon enough the sobs begin to come more rapidly until you can barely breathe, disappointment settles deep into your chest to accompany the nausea in your stomach. As your heart rate increases the monitor begins to beep more and more rapidly. Shortly afterwards a nurse enters the room carrying a clipboard, her rubber shoes squeaking against the sterile laminate.

“You’re awake,” The nurse states looking down at her notes. “You are at Star City General, you have several self inflicted lacerations on each wrist, two on your upper left arm and your stomach had to be pumped. You were legally dead for three minutes. Do you remember what happened?"

“I tried to kill myself…" you rasp, throat raw from crying and fingers idly tugging the edge of your bandages. The nurse hums in affirmation of your statement, scrawling notes onto her charts.

“Right, and because of this you will have to be monitored for the next 72 hours and cleared as stable before you can go home but I will call your mother to let her know you are awake. Your purse and phone are being withheld at the moment and you will be provided with a change of clothes once you are able to get out of bed, do you understand?” The nurse drones, clearly having had to recite this information frequently.

You nod feebly and with that the nurse leaves the room. You wish with every ounce of your being that you had stayed dead and curse the fact all you managed was three measly minutes and now you have to endure three days of living on the ward when you could have just been in the morgue. With an exasperated sigh you lay back down on the thin mattress of the hospital bed, and resign yourself to the fact that you are just as much of a failure in death as you have been in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I will try to keep this regular but lockdown is getting the best of me! Just a bit of exposition and mood setting for now but I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!


	2. Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fresh starts are supposed to be romantic, they’re meant to be glorious and freeing and beautiful. However, leaving the psychiatric ward after 72 hours of dehumanising interrogation with a ziplock evidence bag of your belongings is not romantic, glorious, or beautiful.

Fresh starts are supposed to be romantic, they’re meant to be glorious and freeing and beautiful. However, leaving the psychiatric ward after 72 hours of dehumanising interrogation with a ziplock evidence bag of your belongings is not romantic, glorious, or beautiful. You don’t feel free either, you feel scared. Scared because you know it won’t get better. Not when you’re going back to your family who pretend to be functional when everyone is just ignoring all the tragedy bubbling away under the surface. You sigh, stepping through the revolving door into the parking lot of Star City General Hospital, the sunlight is harsh and you almost want to cower away from it, the stimulation of the outside is too much even after only three days of being locked up. You spot your mom’s car and feel your stomach drop, you haven’t seen her since you’d been committed and you definitely did not feel like discussing the sordid story of your hospitalisation in the car where you can’t escape, no way, not right now. Shuffling reluctantly to the car your mind swims with thoughts of what she might ask, what you should say and you don’t even realise you’ve reached the passenger side door until your mom taps on the glass and gives you a worried look. You offer a weak smile in return and duck into the car. It’s stiflingly hot in there from the sun beating in through the windows which does nothing but make the situation all the more uncomfortable. You go through the motions of adjusting the seat, putting on your seat belt and situating your Ziploc bag into the footwell before you even mange to speak.  
“Hi, Mom.” You say feebly, staring intently at your plimsoles and the empty spaces where the laces should be, you can’t even look at her, too ashamed of your failure to meet her eyes.  
“Hey sweetheart,” your mum smiles sadly, “I’m so glad you’re okay.” The pity in her eyes makes you feel sick. You don’t respond, you don’t know how so instead you just stare out of the window as your mom pulls out of the hospital parking lot in the direction of home.

Buildings whip by as you drive, an endless blur of grey concrete and decorative trees, the same buildings and trees you’ve looked at your whole life. The car winds through the city streets, past Star City U and Grell museum, your whole life summed up in a series of coordinates between collage and home. Your stomach churns at the realisation that your world is just so small, and every inch of it is tainted by memories that keep you awake at night. Star City is your whole life, a life you don’t want anymore. You suddenly feel extremely claustrophobic, you itch underneath your skin, the kind of itch you can’t scratch but you try anyway, clawing your nails back and forth against you thighs to try and find some relief. The car feels too small, too hot, so you roll down the window and breathe heavily through your nose but it doesn’t help. Making a frustrated whine in the back of your throat you put your head in your hands and grit your teeth. You need to get away from this place, from this life and if death didn’t work maybe you’d just have to go and start somewhere new. Somewhere where no one knows you and no one would find you, where you wouldn’t have to pretend to be fine for the sake of others anymore. You look over at your mom, her brow slightly furrowed as she concentrates on the road, it would be hard to leave her. You just hope she will understand. While you had your frustrations with your family you know you mom tries, you know she feels guilty about everything that happened to you and that she loves you but it’s tiring pretending to be fine so you don’t upset her. You see the house crawling closer on the street And your mom turns into the drive and turns off the engine. Neither of you move to get out of the car. You take a deep breath.  
“I need to leave Star City.” You say quietly, for the first time in a long time sounding sure of something. Shuffling in her seat to turn and look at you, your mom smiles sadly.  
“I know.” She breathes, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Where will you go?”  
“I don’t know, I think I’m just gonna drive and figure it out on the way. All I know is I need to go now. Today.” You explain, knowing that if you think about it too much you’ll talk yourself out of it.  
“Okay, just try and be safe.” Mom pleads, still gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white and hands shaky. You nod solemnly, not wanting to make a promise you can’t keep and get out of the car to go inside, leaving your mom there to process. You imagine this is not how she envisioned her only child’s life would turn out, that she could never have imagined it being something twisted and bitter to run away from. You know she feels guilty for not protecting you when you were young, for not being there, but you can’t keep living in this house to see the guilt eat away at her every day while you pretend to be fine for her sake.

You move through the house towards your bedroom, rapidly running through a mental checklist of what you’re going to do and what you need. You have some money put away from your job at the museum, probably enough for gas to get you somewhere far away and maybe enough for some sort of roof over your head for a while until you find a job. Once you reach the bedroom you kick off your laceless shoes and hurry out of the itchy grey sweatsuit they gave you in the hospital, trading them for the first clean clothes you manage to grab off of your bedroom floor. Now is not the time to be fussy. Dragging a duffle bag out from under your bed you chuck your plastic bag of belongings from the ward into it before rummaging through your drawers for bare necessities: paperwork, passport, medication, toiletries, clothes, phone… keys. You hesitate, rolling the cool metal of your keys in your palm, the keychains jangling and clinking against each other. Taking a deep breath, you pry the house keys away from your car key, setting it down on the chipped surface of the desk before returning the single car key to your pocket. You remain still for a moment, taking in the room for the last time. a strange mix of anxiety and anticipation swirl in your gut, this is finally it. Grabbing your bag and the sheet off of your bed, you pull on some shoes and leave the room, you shut the door and press and press a shaking hand against the cool white wood, curling your fingers into a tight fist and bumping it softly against the wood before turning towards the stairs and making your way to the front door.

Waiting for you by the front door is your mom, eyes and face wet with tears and clutching her cardigan to her body as if her life depends on it. You shuffle your weight from foot to foot awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, not knowing what to say to her. You want to make her feel better but there is literally no way to sugar coat this ugly situation. Instead you move to pull her into a hug. You stand there in an embrace for a while, neither of you wanting to be the first to say goodbye.  
“I love you,” You whisper. “and I’m sorry.” Taking a shaky breath you step away from your mom.  
“I love you and I’m sorry too.” She replies, wiping the tears away from her eyes with the back of her hand. You smile sadly then and walk out of your parents house for the last time. You throw your bag and sheets into the back seat of your old ,beat up jeep and climb into the drivers seat, your mom watching solemnly from the doorway. She watches you pull out of the drive and take off down the street before going back inside and closing the door.

The streets of Orchid Bay whizz by your car for the last time as you make your way to the highway, twisting and turning through the familiar city streets. Your parents house fades into the distance as you drive though the neighbourhood and your stomach lurches as you turn onto the street where your childhood home sits. You tighten your hands on the steering wheel into a near painful grip as you drive past the house that your grandparents still live in to this day, eyes focused on the road ahead, refusing to look at the house and bring up the memories you have buried deep in the back of your mind. He doesn’t live there anymore but it doesn’t change what happened there and with that thought, as you continue to drive and the looming figure of the house joins the grey blur of the distance in your rearview mirror you finally start to feel the faint inklings of freedom settle into your chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here she is chapter two!! Thanks for the kudos on the prologue, sorry this took so long to get out and Jason isn't even in it yet! He's coming I've just gotta survive writing this exposition first. But anyway let me know what you think!
> 
> P.S I might be working on a playlist to go with this !


	3. The Nights I Drove Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a terrifying thing, starting your whole life over but you start to feel excitement fizzing in your veins after passing a sign reading: “You are now leaving Star City! Come back soon!” Shortly after driving out of Star City you decide you’re going to drive all the way to the East Coast, to try and get the furthest away you possibly can from your old life, for a truly new start where nobody knows you.

It is a terrifying thing, starting your whole life over but you start to feel excitement fizzing in your veins after finally passing the sign reading: _“You are now leaving Star City! Come back soon!”_ Shortly after driving out of Star City you decide you’re going to drive all the way to the East Coast, to try and get the furthest away you possibly can from your old life, for a truly new start where nobody knows you.

* * *

The drive is long and arduous, stopping only for bland gas station snacks and to sleep in the back seat of the car. While you’re parked in a lay-by getting ready to sleep in your back seat you start trying to make a plan: looking at east coast cities, apartments for rent and jobs. You have a small amount of money in your bank from working at the Grell museum during collage that you had hoped would be enough for a deposit on an apartment but the more you look through the housing sites the less likely it looked that you would have a roof over your head any time soon. Especially when you factor in your phone bill and gas money to keep your car running, you sigh and run a hand through your hair. Staying vagrant for a while or finding a shelter it is then you suppose, you could survive like that for a while and work to save up for something. Of all the cities you looked at Gotham seemed to be the most affordable, likely due to higher crime rates but it was the only city you would be able to afford an apartment or even a bedsit in relatively soon. You put your phone away into your bag and try to get comfortable in the blankets on your back seat. You knew this wasn’t going to be easy but you’re already overwhelmed and you haven’t even arrived in Gotham yet but you knew deep down no matter how bad it got it would never be as bad as where you were before. Who you were before. So you fall asleep curled up in the leather seats with your crumpled sheets, feeling a tentative sense of hope and determination.

* * *

It was getting dark when you finally reached Trigate Bridge to head into Gotham and the skyline of the city on the opposite end of the bridge was strangely haunting. A deep smog seemed to swirl around the island, dissipating the various shades of neon light emanating from the city into a low glow that seemed to move and shift with the wind. It was like nothing you had ever seen before, Star City was grey, everything about it had a pleasant sort of blandness that most people were content with, but not you. You always found the neat geometric neighbourhoods and straight-laced neighbours suffocating but the hazy outline of Gotham against the evening sky was dark and enticing. As you cross the Trigate bridge into the city you turn south and drive past the towering visage of Arkham Asylum sat atop a landmass surrounded by murky waters. It’s dark brick towers and wrought iron bars are straight out of the pages of a gothic horror, bare trees stand gnarled and forlorn in the overgrown courtyard and a single road winds off into the grounds: one way in and one way out. Your brief stint of being an inpatient and lying trough your teeth for 72 hours so they would let you out was awful and dehumanising enough, you cannot even begin to imagine the horrors of being locked inside Arkham Asylum. You shudder, continuing down the highway through Coventry and down past Gotham U. Everything about Gotham is so much more intense than Star City. The buildings are taller and more severe, the streetlights reflecting off of the dark glass exteriors and illuminating the streets below and the alleys are narrower, darker and much more sinister than in anything you had seen before. It’s strangely exciting and terrifying all at he same time. You continue through Chinatown towards Old Gotham, you had seen online that the crime was worse towards the north of the city and figured that staying south by the GCPD wouldn’t hurt until you got your bearings properly.

You can see the bat signal illuminated in the sky from where you park you car for the night and it makes you feel oddly safe despite being in an unfamiliar city at night. The parking lot you’ve stopped in is tucked away yet visible enough that hopefully you’ll avoid anything unsavoury happening to you or your car during the night. From where you lay in the backseat of the Jeep you can see the spire of Wayne Tower in the distance and a slither of the sign on the front of the GCPD building amongst the cluster of other structures in your line of sight. You try and hunker down under the sheets you have in the back to be as inconspicuous as possible but you suppose no matter have someone looks at its its obvious you're living in your car. Hopefully you won’t get disturbed by the police where you are. Tomorrow you suppose you should head back into the East End or the Bowery to look for jobs and some sort of apartment but until then you try and get some rest. Despite the cocktail of adrenaline and anxiety in your bloodstream, for the first time in your life you feel like you’re in control and that maybe things just might start to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Exposition! I promise in the next chapter or two you'll see some jason! I really meant it when i said slow burn haha! it was pretty fun wiring about gotham and looking at maps of the city, I'm a nerd for that kind of stuff! let me know what you think!


	4. Long Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first week of bartending at The Chateaux was, for lack of a better term, a shit show. You admittedly came to Gotham extremely naively, you knew the crime rate was high and you knew that you worked near Crime Alley but the reality of what Gotham was like was nothing that your sheltered life in Star City could have prepared you for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Permadeath Playlist for immaculate vibes while reading: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6T3QFXc2uV8Fpe1SaVltos?si=_ky9UNGaSdqEU0GVb3_k_w

It was surprisingly easy to find a job in the East End, there are plenty of bars and clubs looking for bartenders, waitresses or dancers and they definitely weren’t the type of places to care much about who you are, or the fact you just got out of the psychiatric ward. And so you find yourself with a job at The Chateaux, the name no doubt a reference to the Monarch Theatre which lies abandoned a few streets away. It’s definitely not a job you’re proud of, the slinky uniform makes you feel like you’re part of the menu as much as the drinks but you figure you can grin and bear it for a while so you can eventually stop driving your car across to the other side of Gotham to feel safe enough to sleep. The first week of bartending at The Chateaux was, for lack of a better term, a shit show. You admittedly came to Gotham extremely naively, you knew the crime rate was high and you knew that you worked near Crime Alley but the reality of what Gotham was like was nothing that your sheltered life in Star City could have prepared you for. The lowest of the low seemed to congregate in The Chateaux, attracted to its haze of cigarette smoke steeped in a lustful shade of pink from the neon lights and the scantily clad barmaids and hostesses. The floor was sticky with spilt cocktails and the patrons were always raucous and obnoxious. You had lost count of how many times you’d been catcalled or had your ass grabbed by a seedy stranger at work. Every time it made your stomach turn and you felt like a scared child again, strange hands in places they shouldn’t be and bile in your throat and every time you complained to your boss he would tell you it’s just part of your job. Most nights that first week you would sit and cry in your car before falling asleep curled up tightly in the back seat, feeling hollow and afraid.

Saturday nights at The Chateaux are particularly heinous. Drunk Gothamites pack into the club elbow to elbow, everyone from office workers to crime bosses mixing with one another and getting drunk. You gaze at the clock for what feels like the hundredth time in the last hour, the hands edging painfully slowly towards reading 3am and signalling the end of your shift. You force a smile as you pass a vivid green margarita to a woman scantily clad head to toe in red and black and she gives you a brief sympathetic look and pat on the hand before turning back to join her friends. You sigh and itch absently at the slowly scabbing wounds on your wrist while turning back to the clock again. Your feet and back ache from standing and walking for so long and you know that it won’t get better after a nights sleep because you can’t lay flat in the back of your jeep. You take a breath and remind yourself that it will eventually be worth it and you will have your own life and feel in control again. The last hour of you shift crawls by and you breathe a sigh of relief when you can finally pull your jacket on and leave to walk back to your car. You say a quick goodbye to Steve on the door and head off. Living in your car did not make you feel safe, especially in the East End so every night you drove down to Old Gotham and parked near the GCPD to sleep to feel at least a little bit of protection from the looming police building and glow of the bat signal against the night sky. You pull your jacket tighter around your body to hide your exposed skin in your work uniform as you head to the parking lot where your home sits.

* * *

Saturday night, 0307 hours. Jason drew the short straw for patrols and is watching over the epicentre of drinking culture in The East End. He sits atop an abandoned building overlooking the network of bars and clubs scanning over civilians idly. Nothing seems unusual - groups of girls climbing into taxis, people standing outside bars smoking and homeless people trying to gather up loose change from partygoers. Jason huffs. Not only is he stuck with the worst patrol it’s oddly... quiet. He wishes he could smoke at least but can’t risk the distraction incase something kicks off. Drumming the heels of his boots against the brickwork Jason watches as a woman, far too sober for this time of night, emerges from a particularly seedy bar and speaks with a bouncer. She’s scantily clad like all the woman out tonight but unlike everyone else who is content with the warmth of the alcohol in their blood she pulls a jacket on as she waves good bye to the men watching the door. Barmaid. Noting her anxious body language Jason clocks the group of three men smoking outside the bar who are eyeing her as she walks out of the glare of the bright pink neon lights atop the bar; her head down and her hands clutching the jacket to her body to conceal herself. The three men share a look between themselves and drunkenly move from where they’re leaning on the concrete to follow the woman. Jason presses his lips into a firm line, eyebrows furrowing. The situation doesn’t look promising but they haven’t made any moves to touch her yet. Bruce’s voice echoes in his head, telling him not to trust a hunch in a place as unpredictable as Gotham. He keeps watch from the roof tops, trailing the scene from afar. His lips press into a firm line behind the vivid red of his helmet as the men start hollering and shouting at the woman. “Hey gorgeous where ya’ goin’?” One of the men slurs, his friends snickering behind him. The woman draws her jacket even closer to her body and quickens her pace slightly. “Oi Legs! We’re talkin’ to ya’!” The second man bellows, stubbing a cigarette out on the wall he bumps against while stumbling after the barmaid. Jason slowly moves across the roof tops and fire escapes to get closer to the scene, not wanting to alert the men to his presence yet but needing to be able to intervene if one of them chances a grab at the young woman.

* * *

“Wha’s your problem miss? Don’t know how to take a fuckin’ compliment?” The largest of the three men shouted in your direction. You grasp your shaking hands impossibly harder into your jacket and speed up, tears hot in your eyes as you try desperately try to out pace your pursuers. Every horrible possibility of what could happen if they catch up with you plays on loop on your mind as you mindlessly hurry forwards towards your car, you dread to think what will happen if they follow you all the way there and you have to stop to get in. You dart round a tight corner, feebly hoping it might put some distance between you and the group of men but to no avail. Despite their drunken state they seem to speed up, you bight your lip and break into a clumsy run, but it only seems to make matters worse, they dash towards you shouting profanity and hollering between themselves seemingly fired up by the chase. When one of the men suddenly chances a grab at you, you lunge forward narrowly avoiding him grab a fistful of your hair, however your feet down quite move as fast and you fall, toppling down into the concrete. Yelping in pain as your knees crash against the concrete, you screw your eyes shut and brace yourself for what is about to come. Except it doesn’t come. Instead you feel a rush of movement behind you and the thud of heavy boots hitting the concrete. You scramble away from the sound, turning towards its source to see what’s going on, to see what could have possibly stopped those men from descending on you like vultures. Your eyes widen when you see him. A fourth man, but he’s different. You know about vigilantes of course, Green Arrow was from your home town and you often saw snippets of various other crime fighters from different cities on the news but you had never seen or heard anything about this man. He’s tall and muscular, clad entirely in shades of black and grey, aside from a worn brown leather jacket and a vivid red helmet that covered his entire head. His silhouette looms in front of you and commands a kind of intimidating energy that renders your pursuers completely frozen with fear. Gloved hands drift towards the two pistols that are strapped to each of his thighs threateningly and hover just above them, fingers flexed and filled with intent. He says nothing. The drunkards look between themselves and mutter to one another, their faces drain of colour and expressions twist with fear before they suddenly scarper off into the night and you are left alone with the vigilante in front of you. He turns slowly to face you and you pale at the sight of him. His red helmet glints menacingly under the street lights and shows nothing but the crude suggestion of a face in an expression of total inhuman indifference. You can’t necessarily see his eyes but you can feel his calculating gaze analysing you from behind his mask. Static crackles through the air before he speaks. “You okay?” He asks flatly, his voice modulated by the technology no doubt housed within his helmet and it makes him feel even more cold and inhuman. You manage a feeble nod in response as you try to collect yourself and get back up onto your feet, your knees already bruising and becoming sore to move and just as abruptly as he arrived he was gone, grappling back up onto the rooftops and disappearing into the darkness. Once you finally manage to get back up you shakily limp the rest of the way to your car to finally drive back to the parking lot by the GCPD and sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I am sooo sorry this took so long to be ready to be posted I've just started working full time again and so have been busy but also did not enjoy writing a lot of this chapter haha, the time skip feels a little clunky and i dunno I'm just not happy with it but oh well!! MC has finally met Jason so hopefully it will be easier and more fun to write for me from here on out!
> 
> pls follow me on twitter to talk about jay @seeing_ghosts_


	5. The Kindness of a Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sleep you manage to get after last nights ordeal is restless at best, you feel jumpy and entirely too anxious to let your guard down to rest properly. Despite not being fully asleep you are startled alert by a man tapping at your car window.

The sleep you manage to get after last nights ordeal is restless at best, you feel jumpy and entirely too anxious to let your guard down to rest properly. Despite not being fully asleep you are startled alert by a man tapping at your car window. With your heart leaping suddenly into your throat and your stomach dropping into your feet, you clutch your keys between your knuckles. You tense, pressing your back into the door of the car to be as far from the window the man is peering into as possible before you look at him properly. He looks normal, you think tentatively, letting your shoulders relax a little from where they are hunched by your ears. The man is clearly trying to be unimposing, a soft smile adorning his handsome face as he gives a tentative wave in your direction. His hair is dark and sweeps gracefully in soft waves across his forehead, a few rogue pieces falling charmingly into his blue eyes as the wind cards through the strands. Noticing you still look afraid the man gestures for you to wait a moment before reaching into the pocket of his expensive looking tan overcoat and pulling out what looks like a leather wallet. He opens it and turns it towards you, pressing it against the window. The cold gold of a police badge clinks gently against your window as he holds it there for you to read. The fine sans serif font of his ID reads: Detective Richard Grayson GCPD. You let out a shaky breath, relived that it isn’t someone wanting to rob or hurt you but your stomach drops because he must be here to tell you that you can’t park here anymore and you desperately don’t want to lose the safest spot in the city you’ve managed to find. Reaching forward slowly you eye the man one more time before rolling down your window a fraction so you can speak, you’re relieved that he’s with the GCPD but you’re not totally naive to trust him purely based on that fact. You don’t need to be from Gotham to have heard the stories of their crooked police. You sit back again and he smiles warmly before speaking.

“Morning, my name is Richard Grayson. I’m with the GCPD, as you now know, and I’ve noticed that your car has been parked here overnight a lot.” He states, his tone warm and non judgemental. He must notice the concern in your face as he continues talking. “Which is fine, I just wanted to check if you were okay and if you need anything?” You begin to relax at his words, maybe he isn’t so bad and if you’re honest with yourself some help or even a friendly face is exactly what you need more than anything: more than the not-quite-minimum wage pay from the bar, more than a safe place to park and far more than a tight fistful of keys. You mull the offer of help over in your mind, you look at Detective Grayson and try to discern if there’s anything dark lurking behind his kind smile and soft blue eyes and come up with nothing. For all intents and purposes he seems genuine and your heart aches for someone you might be able to call your friend. So you nod slowly and let out a deep exhale of relief.

“If its not too much to ask Detective Grayson…” you start before hesitating wringing your hands and taking a deep breath before continuing, you had never been good at asking for things. “Would you be able to help me find somewhere to live?” you finish, looking up at Detective Grayson from your huddled position in your car. He smiles at you warmly, you can see the traces of pity behind his eyes but you can’t find it within you to be offended, you know you’re in a dire position better than anyone. Detective Grayson pushes back the sleeve of his pressed tan coat and looks at his watch before tilting his head to think, a stray wave of black hair falling over his forehead from its place neatly atop his head. He’s handsome, you think to yourself idly, anticipating his response.

“Morning briefing starts soon but I’ll meet you out here afterwards? It shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes. Then we can go somewhere and talk, breakfast on me?” Detective Grayson proposes, your stomach positively roars at the mention of a decent meal and you hope he can’t hear from out there. You nod eagerly, the faint traces of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit then.” Dick grins nodding once at you, swivelling on his foot and taking a single step back towards the police building before turning and adding: “Oh and please, you can call me Dick!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! Finally found a shred of motivation to get this chap written, now this is out of the way hopefully things will pick up with it again!


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